Rumour Has It
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: An unknowing bystander witnesses a typical Torchwood training.


**Author's Notes: This sort of perspective is definitely an approach I've never tried before, so here it is – something completely new. I also have to confess – I don't actually know if the UK works with kilograms or pounds and, while my country works with kilograms, it was just neater to use pounds for this occasion. So, in case of inconsistency, I apologise.**

 **Other than that, I hope you enjoy this and, as always, I'd love to hear your opinions on it!**

It was one of Megan's first days off when Cardiff was bathed in sunlight and she cherished it dearly. Ever since she'd started working for the police, it was all work, work, work and while she was enjoying it, there was something to e said about relaxation.

Still, now, as she sat in a café near the heart of the park, she knew that it was worth it. Kids were playing around, there were runners doing their morning rounds and, she noticed with alarm, there were two men fighting about twenty feet away from her.

Megan looked on, worried. Even though she wasn't on duty, her conscience meant that she couldn't just let them do whatever they liked if things got out of hand. They were both about six feet tall, dark-haired and... they weren't actually fighting. It seemed to be some sort of training and, by the time one of them had the other pinned to the ground, they had both started laughing.

"I told you that a bit of fresh air would do you a world of good," the one on the ground said. His lazy, drawling accent labelled him as an American while the one on top of his was clearly Welsh. It became even more obvious when he whined, "But we've got a training room!"

"Doesn't matter," the American said as he flipped them over. They were both dressed in sweatpants and loose t-shirts and as they stood up once more, Megan realised that she vaguely recognised their faces from somewhere. There'd been some files on her desk...

"Now, fifty push-ups. I'll go first," the American spoke again, distracting her from her thoughts. "How much do you weigh?"

"About a hundred and fifty pounds, by last check," the younger one shrugged. "Why?"

The American threw himself back onto the ground in the typical push-up position. "Sit on my back."

"What? Jack, no!" The American's – _Jack's_ apparently – companion seemed appalled. "What for?"

"I'll show you," Jack said with a blinding grin. "Come on!"

"Okay," the younger man sighed and carefully sat himself just over the American's waist.

"Thanks!" He said and with a deep breath, strained the muscles of his arms and got going, counting under his breath. "Believe it or not, Ianto, this will not actually make my back snap and it's also doing wonders for those biceps you love so much."

The comment seemed odd, but Megan didn't pay much attention to it. With names attached to their faces, the men were even more familiar. Jack and Ianto; Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones… she felt as if the names were a part of an ongoing list, but she couldn't quite make herself remember.

Once Jack got to fifty, their places switched.

"How much do _you_ weigh?" Ianto asked warily, only to be met with a sunny smile.

"One hundred fifty-eight."

The younger man groaned and, after faltering a little, got going as well.

Now that she really took a look at them, Megan realized that they were both quite attractive. In the sunlight, there was sweat glistening on their arms and faces and their almost identical blue eyes sparkled with both focused determination and the mirth of the challenge; each of them long-limbed and relaxed even in their training, their t-shirts soaked with sweat and their grey sweatpants hanging low on their narrow hips. When the younger one – Ianto – was done as well, they both stood up. It looked like they'd just caught their respective breaths when Jack spoke again.

"Let's do a bit of running, huh? I want to see what you've got on that."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Jack, you see me running every night."

"Yeah, in a suit. I want to see what you can do in _actual_ running clothes."

"Why doesn't Owen ever get this treatment?"

Another one of those names. Owen Harper. Where did she know them from?

Jack gave an exaggerated wink. "Because I wouldn't enjoy seeing it then. Come on."

They went on their way and had apparently made a rather quick work of their exercise, because they were back not ten minutes later, just as Megan's colleague arrived. Emma was the officer in charge of showing her the ropes when it came to every aspect of their job, being Megan's senior by three years, and they'd become friends over the last few weeks. Now, however, she didn't even bother with a greeting when she sat down.

"What're you staring at?" she asked just as the two men stopped next to each other, panting for breath. "Nice, huh?" Emma went on as she followed her eyes. "I don't think you're their type though. And for that matter, neither am I."

Megan frowned at the remark. "What do you mean?"

"They're the Torchwood boys," Emma said, lowering her voice. "Everyone knows about that."

"Well, I don't." Still, she could finally feel the pieces click in her head. Of course it was Torchwood. She'd seen the files on them on her desk along with a short summary of what they did and how she was supposed to handle them. "And what's that got to do with anything?"

"See for yourself," Emma said, taking a sip of her coffee while Megan watched in dismay as Jack took Ianto's face in his hand and kissed him gently.

 **o.O.o**

"People are staring." Ianto was having that face again; the adorably flustered one that made him look all the younger and even cuter than usual.

"So let them," Jack shrugged. He could never get used to humanity's awkward approach to public displays of affection in this century. "The two people in particular you're referring to are part of the police force, if you'd like to know, so they know us well enough by now."

"Oh," Ianto stated, a deliciously wicked smile curling his lips. "It doesn't really matter anyway, then, does it? We're not fooling anyone these days."

"Mmm," Jack hummed in an affirmative of sorts, leaning closer to nuzzle Ianto's neck. One thing he could definitely get used to – and, in fact, had already eagerly accepted – about this century was the way men smelt. Ianto's scent was rich an inviting; full of sweat and spice and his aftershave (green apples and honey); of shampoo and something just a little wild. And, when he pulled away, Ianto was looking at him through lidded eyes in such a way that, when combined with his smell, made Jack thankful for the looseness of his sweatpants. "Let's go home, shall we? Enough for the day."

"I think we can disagree on that, Captain. There's much more I'd like to do," Ianto quipped with a devious smile and Jack laughed wholeheartedly as they took in the rare rays of sunlight pouring over them.


End file.
